The Five Stages Of Grief
by DarkMidnightStars
Summary: Denial-Anger-Bargaining-Depression-Acceptance. Wilbur deals with his grief after the death of his best friend.


**The Five Stages of Grief-**

**INTRODUCTION**

They always say "it started like a normal day" when something bad happens. But for Wilbur Robinson, it didn't. Not exactly. He couldn't find his favorite sneakers, to start. This in itself wasn't too weird, but searching for his hi-tops consequently made him late for school. So when he attempted to inconspicuously slip into his class, 15 minutes late, he was unsurprisingly caught and given detention. As much of a troublemaker Wilbur was, he almost never got detention. He always knew how to wiggle out, with his smooth words and innocent eyes. Today, though, lost shoes weren't something his algebra teacher could sympathize with.

Another thing that was unusual was that his best friend was nowhere to be seen. This was incredibly odd, because the last time Celeste Gragnani missed a class was in third grade, and she had had the chicken pox. Wilbur tried to text her during his lunch spent in detention, but the supervising teacher had a no cell phone tolerance. When he finally was released, he realized that he probably should have charged his phone last night. It died before he could send anything. Utterly bummed out, for the rest of the day Wilbur just drew and perfected what a TCTF badge would look like if they were real. He thought he might make one, just in case he ever found himself in another situation like the one in the spring. Not that he'd want to be. One close case of never existing was enough for anyone in a lifetime.

When the dismissal bell rang, Wilbur and his classmates were freed. Wilbur walked home in a somewhat miserable mood, staring at his running shoes that were an awful shade of green. Upon arriving home and dodging both his aunt's train and cousin's paint splatter in the hall, he made his way to his room. Once he stuck his phone in its charger, he figured some video games would cheer him up. Lowering his virtual helmet and putting on his sensor gloves, he began to play.

After what seemed to be merely an hour at most, but was actually three, his helmet was yanked off his head to reveal his scowling mother.

"I called you for dinner repeatedly." she said, hands on her hips.

Wilbur pulled off his gloves. "Sorry, I lost track of time and—"

"I don't want excuses." She pushed her son towards a travel tube.

They zipped down into the dining room, where the rest of the family was sitting and chatting happily. Feeling much less dejected, Wilbur smiled and joined in the conversations. There was a ringing noise, and Cornelius glanced at his phone.

"It's dinner time." Franny reminded him.

"They know not to call me unless it's an emergency. I need to take it." he replied.

Franny sighed. "Don't be long, please."

Wilbur watched as his dad went into the hallway. It was true; he hardly ever answered phone calls from work at dinner. He wondered if it was really an emergency. Would his dad have to go back into work? He'd done that before, albeit rarely. He wasn't worried; he knew his dad could handle anything. Wilbur went back to talking with his Uncle Art about the best pizza toppings.

In less than five minutes, his father came back into the room. Everyone smiled at him, but their grins faded when they saw his pale expression.

"What is it, Cornelius?" Franny asked anxiously.

"There…there was a car accident right outside Robinson Industries. Apparently it's really bad." he said in a quiet voice.

Wilbur understood the severity of this. Car accidents had become extremely rare, after the laws passed in 2028, and the overall technology of the flying cars. But now and again, you would hear of some malfunction or mishap that led to a crash, which was usually fatal. Plummeting 100 feet out of the sky in a vehicle had added danger to the car crashes pre-2025.

Cornelius pulled his wife into the hallway. "The Gragnanis were in the crash."

Franny gasped. "Wilbur's friend?"

Cornelius just stared sadly at her.

"Oh, Lewis, how are you going to tell him?"

He turned and looked past her. "I don't know."

**Part One- DENIAL**

Upon turning thirteen, Wilbur was very proud of the fact that his parents let him choose when to go to bed. Although, he did learn the hard way that staying up until 2am while having to get up for school at 7am was not a great idea. So around 11 he tossed on some pajamas, brushed his teeth, and was just in the middle of shutting down his computer when there was a knock at the door.

"Yeah?" He called out, spinning around in his desk chair.

"It's me." Cornelius answered, feeling horrible about what he was about to tell his son.

"Well, come on in, dad." Wilbur stood up and crossed the room to check his hair in the mirror.

The inventor entered his son's room, closing the door. "Wilbur, I have some bad news."

"Did you get a call from my algebra teacher? I was only late because I couldn't find my shoes. It virtually never happens, so I don't know why she…"

Cornelius held up his hand to silence the talkative teen. "No, it's about your friend Celeste."

"She wasn't in school today. Is she like, sick or something? Did she hurt herself?" Wilbur turned around and leant on the dresser.

"Wilbur, I'm so sorry to tell you this, but she died."

Wilbur froze. The only part of him that budged was his eyes, which moved around the room as he thought his father's words over. At last, he focused back on his father and cracked a pained smile.

"Dad, that's a sick joke." He muttered, moving off the dresser and sitting down on his bed.

"I'm not joking, Wilbur. It was her and her mom in the accident earlier today." Cornelius put a hand on his son's shoulder.

The boy frowned. "No, it couldn't have been. You probably misheard."

"I know this is hard for you, but you have to believe me when I—"

"No! She can't be dead, because she sent me a text message twenty minutes ago!" Wilbur furiously slid his cell open and showed his father a message that read, "**geo test today, fun. :P**"

"It's probably a network lag. Did you have your cell turned off today?" Cornelius asked.

"It died at lunch and I was charging it this afternoon." He responded.

"See? She most likely sent this in the morning. It just took until now to get to you." His father said reasonably.

Wilbur was silent for a moment. "You're lying to me."

"No, Wilbur, I wouldn't lie to you, especially not about something like this."

He glared at his phone. "She can't be dead. Just go away and stop lying."

Cornelius sighed. There was no use arguing with his son. Instead, he just hugged him and walked out. Wilbur went into the drawers beside his bed and pulled out a music player. Sticking the earphones in his ears, he fell asleep listening to his favorite band.

**Part Two- ANGER**

A regular morning in the Robinson house was a busy whirlwind of people getting ready for school, work, errands, and the sound of Franny's frogs practicing. Wilbur had his alarm set for 7am, but that day he couldn't hear it because of the music in his ears. So eventually, Carl had to go up and wake him.

"Rise and shine, little buddy!" The robot said cheerfully, taking the earphones out of his ears.

"I don't wanna…" he mumbled, tugging the covers over his head.

"Come on, you have to go to school. Do you want to be late again?" Carl lifted the blanket off Wilbur's head.

"I don't want to go to school!" Wilbur said, louder.

Carl crossed his metal arms. "Wilbur, you have to."

"Buzz off, metal mouth!" Wilbur yelled, yanking the covers back.

Hurt, the robot made his way up to Cornelius's lab, where the inventor was sitting at his desk, working on a blueprint.

"Cornelius…you need to talk to Wilbur." Carl said.

The blonde man turned around in his chair. "What happened?"

"I think he's angry about Celeste." said Carl.

"Oh…" Cornelius took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "I'll go speak with him."

Wilbur lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling. Why did there have to be an accident, anyway? Who's the idiot who crashed into the Gragnanis' car? He should be thrown in jail. For life. And not just the 20 years a "life sentence" dictates. Starting right now, and until the loser dies. Maybe, if fate has a sense of justice, a car would smash right through his cell and kill him. It would only be fair. Wilbur's angry musings were interrupted by a knock on his door.

"Go away, Carl!" he shouted.

"It's not Carl." Cornelius corrected him through the door. Wilbur groaned as his father entered his room. "We need to talk, son."

"No, we don't. There is nothing to talk about." Grabbing his headphones, Wilbur attempted to shut out his father. Cornelius removed them from the jack in the music player.

"What about Celeste?" he asked gently, setting the device down on the night table.

Wilbur said nothing for a while, but merely wrapped his headphones into a careful loop.

"Did they find out what caused the crash?" he said finally, sitting up.

"New driver. Only 16. She was driving and lost control."

"She shouldn't be allowed to keep her license. Don't they test you before you can have your license? They should make it so she can't ever drive again." Wilbur ranted spitefully.

"She can't, Wilbur. She died in the crash as well." Cornelius said quietly.

This silenced the teen for a long time. He stared at the floor and his father regarded him worriedly.

Eventually Wilbur looked up. "Good." he said, giving his dad a cold look.

This startled Cornelius. "Wilbur! Look, I know you're angry about Celeste, that's understandable, but you have to learn to accept it. It's not fair what happened to the Gragnanis. Or to the other teenager. No one is to blame here, alright?"

Wilbur glanced at his father, then back at the floor. "Sure, whatever."

Cornelius nodded. "Get ready for school, please. I'll drive you so you're not late."

"I don't want to go!" Wilbur protested once more.

"Wilbur Robinson, you are going to school today whether you want to or not. Get dressed. Now." Cornelius used his strict voice sparingly, but when he did, Wilbur knew he had to obey. Grudgingly, he slid out of bed and ripped clothes out of his closet.

"If you don't want to be late again, you better be downstairs in twenty minutes." Cornelius warned, leaving his son to himself again. Still fuming, Wilbur kicked the wall, which only resulted in a sore foot.

**Part Three- BARGAINING**

Five more steps to the travel tube. Wilbur snuck stealthily to the cylinder that would take him to his room before his father could catch him. Four more. Three…

"Wilbur!"

He cringed, then whirled around. "Yes, dad?"

"Your principal called." Cornelius tapped his foot, arms crossed.

"Did he? Did you guys have a nice chat? Mr. Ramsey is a funny guy, isn't he?" Wilbur grinned innocently.

"Wilbur, you've never gotten into fights before. What made you hit that kid?" Cornelius raised his eyebrows.

"Who, Connor? He was totally asking for it, Dad! And I barely touched him, it wasn't even enough to leave a bruise…" Wilbur said defensively.

"You broke his nose," said his father pointedly.

Wilbur scoffed. "I apologized afterwards."

"After Mr. Ramsey forced you to."

"No! Well, yeah, but…" Wilbur trailed off guiltily.

Cornelius sighed. "Come on, Wilbur. You're not a bad kid; I don't want you acting like this."

"Won't happen again, promise." Wilbur put his hand over his heart as a mock oath.

"It better not."

Wilbur nodded. After a moment's hesitation, he asked, "Hey, dad? Do you think I could use the time machine? I could go back and—"

Cornelius interrupted. "Wilbur, you can't. You have no idea of the consequences that could have. Besides, you can't use the time machine as an eraser every time something goes wrong."

"But it's just one little thing! Please! What harm can it do, I'm just going back to yesterday!" Wilbur argued.

"You're not listening to me—" The inventor tried to reason with his son.

"No, you're not listening to me! Why did you invent the time machine if you're never going to use it?" Wilbur yelled, stamping his foot in an immature manner.

"It's a significant scientific achievement, not a toy for you to play with."

"Please, Dad! Nothing will go wrong! I promise!" The dark-haired teenager pleaded.

"You have to deal with grief like any other person does." Cornelius said firmly.

"I'll do whatever you ask me without complaint! I'll, uh, help more around the house! I'll do better in school! I'll start a charity from my savings! Anything, Dad, just please let me save her!" Wilbur was inches from dropping to his knees and crying desperately.

"I said no, and that's final." Cornelius said sternly.

Extremely upset, Wilbur looked down at the ground, fighting back tears.

Cornelius crossed the room, patting his son's back. "It'll be oka—"

Wilbur wrenched away from his father. "Don't. Just don't." he said, before running to the travel tube.

**Part Four – DEPRESSION**

"Lewis, I'm worried about Wilbur." Franny said one night six weeks later.

"It's absolutely natural to be sad after the death of a friend." Cornelius assured her, taking a sip of his coffee.

"But he's been more than sad. He's been outright depressed." She stirred sugar into her tea.

"That's not uncommon." Cornelius said calmly.

"Honey!" Franny exclaimed "His grades have plummeted. He doesn't do anything except sit in that time machine for hours. He's given up on sneaking it out. Actually, he's given up on everything. School, friends, even his family! I can't even force him to come down for dinner anymore. He's barely said a word in weeks and I'm afraid that—"

"Franny, Franny, take a breath. Wilbur is just trying to cope with his grief. When he's ready, he'll come back." Cornelius said, unperturbed.

"What if he doesn't? What if he just gets more and more depressed? What if he gets _suicidal?_! Then what are we supposed to do?" Franny wailed, getting more and more worked up.

Cornelius shrugged. "Then, we can send him to a therapist. And possibly administer anti-depressants."

"You're not seriously suggesting we put Wilbur on _drugs_!" Franny slammed her cup of tea on the counter, causing it to slosh everywhere.

"Only if it gets worse, Fran."

She nodded miserably, and began cleaning up the liquid off the counter.

"I'll take care of it." Cornelius said softly, taking the cloth from his wife's hands. "Why don't you go check in on him"  
"I think I will." She gave her husband a quick kiss on the cheek before making her way up to her son's bedroom. Glancing around, she saw no sign of Wilbur. Franny was about to retreat back to the lower level to search for him, but she heard movement in the adjacent bathroom.

"Wilbur, sweetie?" she asked, knocking on the door. Franny heard a clattering noise, and Wilbur cursing under his breath. As any concerned mother would, she opened the door.

"What was tha- Wilbur!" she shrieked.

Wilbur was on his hands and knees, trying to pick up each of the tiny white pills that he had dropped. Franny easily identified the bottle he was depositing them into as her mother-in-law's prescription sleeping pills.

"Wilbur…what are you doing?" she whispered, horrified.

"Mom, I know this looks bad, but…" Wilbur's expression was guiltier than it had ever been.

Franny burst into tears. "Honey, you can't do this. We'll get you help, I promise. Please, just don't—"

Wilbur took a deep breath. "I swear I wasn't trying to kill myself or anything. Honestly, I just wanted one to help me sleep. I've been trying for hours."

In his tired eyes, Franny saw something she rarely saw: complete honesty. She reached forward and hugged him tightly. "You scared me."

"I'm sorry." he said, returning her hug.

Franny wiped her eyes, and tousled her son's pointy hair. "Take one, then into bed." She gave him a pill and took the rest of the bottle. "And next time, ask please."

Wilbur nodded, downing the white oval, and then crawled into bed.

After returning the orange bottle to its owner, she went back to the kitchen, where Cornelius had just finished putting both of their cups in the dishwasher.

"He's going to be fine." She said, relieved.

**Part Five – ACCEPTANCE**

"You cheated."

"Did not!"

"You so did!"

"Liar!"

It was Lefty's day off, so Carl decided it was his job to open the door and shut the bickering twins up. There was a man at the doorstep. Carl didn't need introductions to recognize the guest.

"Wilbur!" he called through the intercom. "Someone here for you!"

"Coming!" After about half a minute, the teen was down the nearest travel tube. "Oh, hey, Mr. Gragnani."

"Hello, Wilbur." Celeste's father smiled politely at him. "I think I have something of yours." He handed Wilbur a pair of black hi-tops, with the exact knot in the lace that had been in them the day he had lost them.

Wilbur was stunned. "Where…?"

"They were under her bed." He answered.

Now Wilbur remembered. He had stayed too late at Celeste's the night before she died. His dad sent him a text demanding to know where he was. In his haste to get home, he had left his shoes at her place.

"T-Thank you." he stammered.

"No problem." The man shrugged. "You were her best friend, you know that?"

Wilbur felt tears welling up in his eyes. "Yeah."

Mr. Gragnani nodded. "I also thought you'd want this." He tossed Wilbur a digital photo keychain. "She always kept this with her."

Wilbur caught it and clicked a button on the device. It contained hundreds of pictures of Celeste and him, going as far back as second grade. "Thanks so much."

"You're welcome." He looked at his watch. "I have to go."

"Bye, Mr. Gragnani." Wilbur waved. The man waved back, turned, and walked down the path to his car.

Wilbur stared fixatedly at the images. "Carl, I miss her."

"I know, little buddy." The robot responded.  
"Wherever she is, I hope she's happy." Wilbur pocketed the keychain carefully.

"I don't know much about these things, but I do too." Carl said, putting a brotherly arm around Wilbur and leading him off.

_Twenty-five years later:_

"You want to hold her, honey?"

Wilbur smiled, taking the newborn from his wife's arms. "She's so adorable."

"Isn't she?" she asked with a content sigh. "What should we name her?"

Wilbur paused, staring at the baby lovingly.

"Celeste."


End file.
